Boo ne
by Faran1078
Summary: The Haunting of John Locke: Sometimes death can be fun


The path from the beach to the hatch was well-travelled and worn smooth. In the two weeks since they'd blown the lid off, quite literally, and set that raving lunatic Desmond loose on the island, many had made the journey. Some had been assigned to button pushing duty, but most had just wanted a taste of civilization from the amenities The Dharma Corp. had so considerately provided.

Locke wasn't even watching as he travelled the familiar trail, thoughts focused instead on his purpose as self appointed Lord of the Swan Hatch, and Chief Button Pusher.

A motion caught at the edge of his peripheral vision and he suddenly looked up.

Boone was standing right in front of him, smiling his best lopsided grin. "Hello John!"

The island had shown him a lot of things, but this one came totally out of left field, and caused his step to falter.

"Boone?" He asked hesitantly, wondering what this latest vision was a portent of, if it was island sent it had to have significance.

"Yep, it's me." The figure confirmed.

"You're dead, so…" Locke pondered, still trying to determine the hidden meaning of the boys' appearance, "why do I think I see you? Why is the island showing you to me?" He was talking to himself, no longer addressing Boone.

"You _think_ you see me? You only _think_ you see me? You're as nuts as that Desmond guy, I'm right here John." He laughed. "If you only _think_ you see me then why are you talking to me? Or better yet, why are you talking to yourself?" He twirled his finger beside his head in the well-known sign for crazy.

Locke's eyes narrowed, not paying any attention to Boone now, still firmly convinced that this was another sign. He just had to figure it out.

"It's a sign alright John." Boone echoed his thoughts. "It's a sign that you're being haunted."

"I don't believe in ghosts!" Locke ridiculed the words.

"But you believe in divine signs sent by a land mass? Jesus, this is going to be easier than I thought, I'm going to have you a gibbering idiot in no time." Boone's shoulders shook as he chuckled.

Locke took one more look and manoeuvred past the hallucination, careful not to brush against it, though if it was an hallucination, what could there have been to brush against?

"You fucking killed me John!" Boone yelled at Locke's back, sounding pissed at being ignored, but Locke didn't turn around, he just kept walking. The voice however didn't recede. Locke turned around, finding the boy directly behind him he staggered back a step.

Boone stuck his face right up to him. "I was fucking 22 years old you bald asshole! You fucking killed me because you thought you had to appease your stupid island. I was a _sacrifice _you said! What a selfish, self serving, self centred asshat." he spat the last word, disgusted. "It's certainly obvious the value you place on human life. Mine, for your stupid pile of rocks and trees and dirt." He calmed down at that, a nasty grin on his face, it proved to be the one and only time Locke witnessed him lose his temper, he remained maddeningly taciturn after that.

Boone moved back, giving the older man some space. "I hope you got a thank you card John. At the very least your island should show proper manners after a gift like me. I sure hope it was a Hallmark."

Locke backed shakily away and fled up the trail. "See you later John!" The voice mockingly called after him.

The 'later' proved to be the next day, then the next and the next, Locke could never tell when the spirit would suddenly decide to visit him, taunting him endlessly when it was around.

Locke cracked one eye opened slowly, the interior of his shelter was shadowed, he sighed thinking he was alone. But wasn't he always alone when Boone was present? The phantom didn't really exist, did it?

He rolled over, "Gah!" he exclaimed in surprise at the sight of the figure sitting directly beside him. Boone was wearing his four aces t-shirt that day.

"Morning John, sleep well?" Boone asked, casually. "_I_ of course, don't sleep at all any more, what with the whole corpse thing going on." He leaned down and appeared to be taking in the startled look on Locke's face. "Did I scare you, John? Damn," he scratched at his cheek, looking concerned. He snapped his fingers, "I didn't say 'boo' did I? That would have let you know I was here, shit I'm a bad ghost." He spent the next half hour practicing the word 'boo' giving it different inflections, volumes and intonations. Time was immaterial when you were dead.

Locke stared at him in horror; he couldn't seem to move, to escape from the diabolically ridiculous situation. Finally Boone seemed satisfied with one of his attempts.

"There John, I think that's it." He smiled in satisfaction at Locke, leaned in to within inches of his face and repeated his last 'boo', eyes gleaming in pleasure at the whimper that escaped from Locke's throat. Suddenly the spell of immobility was gone. Locke didn't waste a second, springing up and fleeing from his tent as if being chased by the devil. He wasn't so sure that he wasn't, but did the devil really wear two hundred dollar True Religion jeans and Columbia hiking boots?

A few evenings later he was seated by the fire, he'd had a few blessed Boone-less hours, and was temporarily lulled into a false sense of security.

"You think you've got it bad John?" the question came out of the dark, making him jump. Locke's hands curled into fists as he stared into the flames, teeth gritted in frustration.

Boone moved into the flickering light and sank to the sand at Locke's side, crossing his legs. "Look at that poor wretch." He pointed with his chin at Ana Lucia, who looked almost as bad as Locke did. She'd developed a nervous twitch, and was clearly leaning to the right as if to avoid someone, or some_thing_.

"Shannon's haunting her," He didn't appear to be saddened as he acknowledged the untimely death of his stepsister and long time love. "I'm nothing in comparison to what _she's_ going through. On the snark scale, Shan's a fucking Nuclear weapon; I'm just a Fourth of July firecracker next to her."

Locke suddenly felt very sorry indeed for the Latino woman, and that of all the people she could have picked to mistakenly shoot it had to be _that_ sharp-tongued Malibu princess. Boone was bad enough, but Shannon…" He shuddered at the thought. Something occurring to him, he glanced over at Charlie, who was happily playing his guitar.

"Why doesn't Charlie look bothered?" Until that point he'd resisted, for the most part, being drawn into a conversation with his almost constant 'virtual' companion.

"Why would Charlie look bothered?" It was the first time he'd seen Boone's spectre truly look puzzled.

"He killed Ethan." Locke stated.

"Ah, but Ethan deserved to die. Shannon and I were unfairly _murdered_." Boone paused, brow furrowed. "Hmm, unfairly _murdered_. Is that redundant, John? Do I need to modify _murdered_ with unfairly, John?" The constant and pointed use of his first name grated on Locke like nails on a chalkboard. It had started to sound like a curse, but then it _was_ a four-letter word.

Boone continued blathering snide comments as Locke attempted unsuccessfully to tune him out. The verbal version of Chinese water torture continued unabated.

Locke was unsurprised to find a figure seated on the couch when he next assumed hatch duty. The apparition, this time however, had white wires trailing from its' ears and an iPod in it's hand.

"John," Boone nodded in greeting.

Locke moved past without acknowledging the greeting and sat at the computer dropping his face to cover it with his hands.

That didn't deter Boone who pulled one of the ear buds out. "You know this died long before I did, but somehow it works again now. I guess it's because, you know, we're _both_ dead now, funny how that works."

He stuck it back in his ear and spun the wheel on the device, clearing his throat he started humming, then broke into song.

He had perhaps the worst singing voice Locke voice had ever heard, and the drivel that he was massacring was even worse.

Somebody told me you had a boyfriend

Who looked like a girlfriend

That I had in February of last year

It's not confidential, I've got potential

Locke finally looked up. "Boone," he said in a tired voice, "please stop."

With his ears plugged into the device he shouldn't have been able to hear the entreaty, but he did.

"It's The Killers, kind of appropriate don't you think John?" He asked with a cocky grin.

Locke looked pained, and a little sick.

Boone spun the wheel again and listened for a while, Locke thought he was finally going to get some peace, and Boone was actually going to do what he asked and not sing.

When the song got to the chorus, however, he started up again.

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

I got soul, but I'm not a soldier

"Ha ha! That's a good one! I got soul! Can't disagree there, can you John? And I guess we both know that I'm not a soldier. Or wait, maybe I was, I sure as hell was stupid enough to follow your orders. What do you think John? Was I a soldier?" Boone looked over at him with a questioning look, eyebrows both raised.

Locke knew from experience that the specter wouldn't give it up and would keep repeating the final two questions until he finally gave him an answer, like a kid asking 'Are we there yet?'"

"You were a good soldier Boone." Locke told him, wearily. He was doing many things wearily these days.

"But you were a piss poor captain, now weren't you John? I think that was how you put it, when we were talking about Star Trek. How members of the away team, especially those in red shirts, always ended up dead. Hey…hold on…my shirt was grey." He appeared to be thinking, then shook his head. "Nope, I'm wrong. It was pretty red after I bled all over it, so I guess that counts, right John?"

"Boone, I never meant for you to get hurt, you know that." Locke attempted to appease the spirit haunting him.

"Come to think of it, your shirt was kind of red too." He rubbed his chin. "Nice of you to attend my funeral wearing a shirt drenched with my blood. It adds a nice touch don't you think John? Obviously you do, you did it. And apologizing to Shannon for killing me while wearing the same shirt, that just _screams_ class. And, of course, it's _never_ a proper funeral until a fistfight breaks out, can't believe Jack actually defended me. Didn't think _he_ cared," he gave Locke a weighted stare, "though I thought _you_ did John. But then life's full of little disappointments, death too I guess, right John? Oh yeah, you wouldn't know anything about that, _I'm_ the only dead person in this room."

Locke was starting to wish that that wasn't the case, wanting to join Boone on the other side, well not _join_ him exactly; he'd already had _more_ than enough of the young man's company. He was just longing to be rid of the guy, and the phantom had already told him that Locke's own death was the only sure way for that to occur.

The haunting continued, Locke becoming increasing jumpy, Most of the rest of the survivors had avoided him even _before_ he started getting his spooky visits, finding the old guy creepy and weird, now, as he peered and propped at every movement, they were convinced of it.

He had hatch duty again, but no Boone greeted him this time, and he hadn't been followed up the path by the taunting voice either. He'd just entered the code and pushed the button, so headed over to the bookcase to select some reading material to fill the remainder of the 108 minutes until the alarm went off once more and he started the cycle again. Without really reading the title on the spine he pulled out one of the leather-bound items.

Glancing at the cover, he recoiled in fright, a moan slipping past his lips. 'A Christmas Carol' was boldly emblazoned in gold and the cover of his choice. That was all he needed to read, a book about a man being haunted by ghosts. What were the odds that he'd take that one out? He replaced it, and with care reached for another.

Settling comfortably on the couch he opened the cover of the murder-mystery and quickly became involved in the story.

A chuckle brought his head up. Boone was in the chair on the other side of the coffee table, his head was tipped to one side so he could see the title on the book.

Locke raised one hand and pinched his temples, waiting for the inevitable stream of biting sarcasm to start.

"Evening John." Boone greeted politely. "Good book?"

Locke ignored him.

"I bet you're the kind who likes to see the story develop, aren't you John? I bet you _never ever_ turn to the last page to see how it ends, that right?" The ghost sounded earnest, like he really cared. "That right John?" It repeated when Locke didn't answer.

"I would never want to ruin a good book. It's pointless to read them if you know how it ends." Locke knew he'd have to answer otherwise the boy would just keep pestering him, not that he wasn't going to anyway.

Boone pointed at the book in his hand. "Mary Alice is the dead body in the garden. It was her sister that did it."

Locke's head came up to regard the implacable figure. "Why did you do that?" Locke's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "How could you know that?"

"Turn to the last page, then John." Boone shrugged unconcerned whether Locke believed him or not.

With dreadful anticipation, he did. It ended just as Boone had told him. He threw the book on the table in frustration and stalked over to the bookcase, pulling another one out.

"Horse race was fixed." Boone called out.

Locke grabbed for another.

"Money's in the statue." The smug voice informed him.

He began frantically pulling books out at random, the ending being revealed with gleeful assurance by Boone each and every time.

Jack and Kate found him lying on the floor slumped over a mound of books, twitching, eyes wide and unseeing, when they happened to pass by and heard the unattended alarm sounding.

"Boo, boo, boo…" was all anyone ever heard him say again.


End file.
